


Origins of An Orange Couch

by annie174



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annie174/pseuds/annie174
Summary: How did LoVe end up with the orange couch of Season 4? Here is one option...
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	Origins of An Orange Couch

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so I really really was going to try Promptober this year, but alas work and election stress have won over and all I do is work and watch CNN. I had started this piece in September though, it was going to be for "Red Card" I believe. I finished it off this morning.
> 
> This starts post-MKaT and I am assuming the apartment in Season 4 is not the same as the one in the book although I really have no idea....but it is really OK either way.

“Logan, Logan, Lo, I can’t,” Veronica panted.

“Not a very good attitude there, Miss Mars,” he gritted out her last name as he thrust just a little harder.

“I need, I want… I… fuck…” she arched her back and shuddered underneath him.

Logan’s hands went to her hips, his fingers slick from sliding over her body.

For a moment, she went limp and Logan slowed down until she gathered her wits about her.

“See there, orgasm number 4 was totally doable,” Logan winked, and her body flushed in satisfaction and embarrassment.

“Come here,” he slipped his arms under her back, warm soft and damp from sliding against the sheets and pulled her to his chest, moving again in shorter thrusts that hit her in a whole new way.

“So glad you’re home,” she kissed his neck as she wrapped her legs tight around his waist and rotated to meet him halfway.

“I missed you,” he kissed the side of her head and she squeezed him tighter as he came with a soft breath against her cheek.

They flopped in opposite directions, their legs tangling together in the middle of the wrecked bed.

“Must. Drink. Water,” Veronica flung an arm over her sweaty forehead dramatically.

“I’ll get it,” Logan patted her thigh and extracted himself from the bed.

He looked around the floor for a bit before pulling a drawer open and grabbing a fresh pair of boxers.

“I think we sacrificed the clothes we had on to the sex gods,” Veronica had rolled on her side to watch him.

“You mean we aren’t the sex gods?” he tilted his head and her heart fluttered. He was home, he was safe.

Logan opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway, at his feet was a small white tuft of something that resembled a cotton ball. He didn’t think anything of it until he rounded the corner into the living room.

“Veronica!” he called and moments later the pair stood in the living room, surrounded by the innards of sofa cushions and throw pillows scattered all around the small apartment.

“Pony!” Veronica called and the puppy scampered out, still not full grown but larger than she was when Logan left.

The dog looked guilty, if dogs could look guilty, and she whimpered as she hung her head.

“We did leave her alone for…” Logan looked at his watch, “five hours, the poor thing.”

He crouched down and pet the puppy on her head, and she wiggled herself in a combination of delight and indication she needed to go for a walk.

“She ate our furniture,” Veronica sighed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, she missed the huge smile that emerged on Logan’s face when she called it their furniture.

“I’ll take her out,” he kissed her cheek and scooped the puppy up.

“You need clothes, Mrs. Cavanaugh next door already makes googly eyes at you.”

Logan just snorted a laugh and changed course for the bedroom. He emerged in shorts and a tee shirt, Pony at his heels.

“Better?” he held his arms out and spun in a display of his attire.

“For Mrs. Cavanaugh yes? Me, I preferred the other ensemble,” she winked in an exaggerated fashion.

“We’ll be quick,” he kissed her, and she stuck to him like glue, he was back, he was safe, he tasted so fucking good.

Logan dropped the leash and wrapped both arms around Veronica, her legs instinctively lifting to wrap around his torso.

Pony whimpered.

“Puppy, right,” Logan stopped the kiss but kept his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.

“Quick before we have to replace the couch and the rug,” she hopped down and shook out her limbs like she was coming off a workout.

Logan retrieved the leash and headed out the door with the dog.

Veronica gathered up all the cushion filling and attempted to stuff some back in, they would have to make do with lumpy cushions for a while. They could just stick to the bed though, that wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.

The throw pillows were a complete loss, but really, who thought throw pillows and a puppy were a good idea? She clearly had forgotten the early days of Backup.

As she carried all the trash to the kitchen, she noticed that Pony’s high-end dog bed was in pristine condition, not a fluff of stuffing amiss. Veronica snorted a laugh; their dog was no fool.

Logan took longer than necessary, and he returned with Pony in his arms again, cooing at her and nuzzling her puppy-soft fur. Veronica just laughed and flipped the eggs she had fried up out of the pan with a flourish.

“Oooooh, sustenance,” Logan smiled.

“Think you can tear yourself away from your little friend?” she smirked back but there was no malice there, they were both too cute.

Logan placed the puppy on the floor and watched her run over to her water bowl, barreling into it and sloshing water all over the floor.

“She’s a handful,” he arched both brows.

“I thought that was how you preferred your women?” Veronica snagged the toast that had just popped.

“Is it breakfast time?” Logan was confused by the jetlag and the extended bedroom time.

“Not even close, but this is all we have. Groceries are on tap for tomorrow.”

“I can order something,” he pulled out his phone.

“That would require more time in clothes and eggs are full of good protein or so you often tell me,” she pushed one plate his way with 2 forks on it.

“I’ll take care of replacing the couch,” he said casually between bites.

“We should probably wait until she is a little more housebroken,” Veronica wrinkled her nose and looked over at the puppy who was licking the water off the floor instead of out of her bowl.

“Is it salvageable?” he looked back at the couch that had kind of been restuffed.

“I’ll find my Danish Butter Cookie tin and try and fix it,” she laughed at the clueless look on his face, “you clearly never took a Home Economics class.”

“I even got out of wood shop, my delicate hands,” he held them up and showed her both sides.

“I can patch up the cushions and we can make do for a while, but maybe we could consider some training for the little princess.”

The training took and the couch held up and on one of Logan’s shore leaves the perfect beachfront apartment materialized as if by magic.

“We should get a new couch for the new place, retire Pony’s teething toy,” Logan said over the phone one night when Veronica called to say she would be late again.

“All you, big fella, I want to wrap up this case so we can start packing.”

“I’m on it!”

A week later, Veronica was taping up one of the last boxes of kitchen stuff when she remembered, “what’s going on with the couch?”

“This one is going to the dump our last day here and the new one will be delivered to the new place the morning after we move in there,” he smiled and took the tape roll from her hands, “and now I want to go to bed.”

“When we could pack more pots and pans, I never use?” she grinned but surrendered to his charm.

When moving day came, the old couch went and as promised on the morning of day 2 in their new bright happy beachfront apartment, 2 guys arrived to deliver the new one. They lugged it up the stairs like it weighed nothing and tore off all the plastic. Logan tipped them generously and the couple stood in the living room looking at it.

“What do you think?” he was concerned by the look on her face.

“It’s orange.”

“I like orange.”

“I am now remembering how much orange you wore in high school,” she turned and admired the jeans and V-neck black tee shirt he was currently wearing.

“It goes with my eyes.”

“It doesn’t really.”

“My mother’s stylist dressed me,” he shrugged.

“Why would you want the couch to go with your eyes?”

“Well, not the couch, but a sweater maybe.”

“No more orange clothes, the couch can stay,” she said and that was that.

The End


End file.
